


With Bloody Back

by DoreyG



Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Imprisonment, M/M, Nobody is a good person, Not at all healthy relationships, mentions of non-explicit violence, mentions of torture, whipping/flogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He waits until the door locks behind him and the footsteps retreat before he steps forwards again. Advancing ever onwards, ever steadily, until he’s standing right over the precious prisoner. Still lying on the dirt with his ever so dark eyes glinting <i>up</i>.</p>
<p>“Caesar.”</p>
<p>“Vercingetorix.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Bloody Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Whipping/flogging square on my HC_Bingo card. Contains a lot of darkness, and a bit of torture, and quite a bit of Vercingetorix calling Caesar out. Probably not all that historically accurate, although Vercingetorix was imprisoned in the Tullianum for five odd years after he surrendered.

Vercingetorix’s cell, when he gets to it, is dark. Cool. Deep beneath the earth in a way that can never be reached by any casual rescue attempt. He can hear the faint drip of water as he slows to a halt before it, can feel slime beneath his feet and barely glimpse the grey of moss steadily clambering up the wall.

…The man’s eyes glint at him from out of the dark, accusing in a way that is flat and solid and just a little like a knife in the gut. He has to take a deep breath before he can turn to the guard besides him, adopt his haughtiest expression.

“He’s been disobedient today, sir,” the one that always tends to draw confessions of _some_ sort, a quite useful skill that he’s cultivated for some time – always fascinated by the effect it has on double dealing senators or shifty guards or simple _cowards_ ready to cheat every man out of an honest wage while never getting their hands the slightest bit dirty, “mouthy, and yanking at his chains, and lashing out whenever we got close. He almost gave Aurelius a black eye-!”

He arches his eyebrow.

“…Sir.”

A very useful skill, a very useful skill _indeed_ He takes the briefest moment to glance back at Vercingetorix’s dark eyes (and repress a shudder, he’s always repressing shudders) before facing the nameless guard again, “how?”

“…He yanked out against his chains, sir. His fists were aiming right for Aurelius’ eye socket before we even had time to blink.”

“He got back in time, though?”

“Barely! And the bastard almost got his nose as he was going!” The nameless guard looks almost offended at his disinterest, he lets the haughty expression slide slowly towards a glare _just_ to fix it, “Granted, he should’ve been more careful – Marcus suffered exactly the same two days ago – but that doesn’t stop the guy from being a violent _prick_ , sir. Personally I don’t know why you keep visiting him, to my mind he’s a rebel against Rome and a right bastard besides and should be put to death before anybody else can suffer at his-“

“ _Enough_.”

…The nameless guard falls silent, panting a little as he slowly draws back and ducks his head.

“When I want the opinion of a nobody with a mouth far bigger than his brain then I’ll ask for it,” he continues steadily, perhaps a _touch_ more snappish than he should be, “is he quieter now?”

Nameless guard’s mouth twists silently for a few seconds before he finds it within him to reply, it unsettles him just slightly (would probably unsettle him more if he wasn’t still just a little _angry_ ), “yes, sir. We made very sure of that after he almost got Aurelius, sir.”

“Very sure?”

Nameless guard’s mouth twists again, it unsettles him just as much as last time, “yes, sir.”

…He still puts it aside, straightens up just a little and steps closer to the bars (closer to Vercingetorix’s eyes, still steadily glinting on the other side), “let me in, then, and retreat after you’ve locked the door behind me. I’ll call you to let me out in about half an hour.”

“Is that-?”

“Remember what I said about _opinions_ , soldier?”

The nameless guard’s mouth twists again, in a far less smug way this time. He sends a look that’d be a glare on a slightly less sensible man and steps right up to the metal door. His keys rattling as he unhooks the most fearsome looking one and slides it into the lock.

_Clink_.

“Thank you,” he lowers his eyebrow as a sort of concession, steps in without a backwards glance, “also remember my orders.”

”Sir.”

He waits until the door locks behind him and the footsteps retreat before he steps forwards again. Advancing ever onwards, ever steadily, until he’s standing right over the precious prisoner. Still lying on the dirt with his ever so dark eyes glinting _up_.

“Caesar.”

“Vercingetorix.”

…They stare at each other for a long and slightly unsettling moment.

“How have you been?” He breaks the silence first, as ever. Sacrifices a slow step away and bounces on his heel a little, tilting his head as Vercingetorix keeps looking silently up at him, “my apologies for not visiting for the past week, the senate has been unfortunately busy.”

The mouth beneath those eyes, formerly bared and dangerous, eases into something like a smirk. It, in true Vercingetorix fashion, is somehow more unnerving than the obvious threat (and the smell of (odd) rot haunting the air around them _certainly_ doesn’t help), “begging you, the great Caesar, to invade more places and enslave more people?”

“Perhaps,” he can still only offer mildly, not show the briefest moment of intimidation because they both know that that’d mean death, “but that wasn’t the question, as you’ll recall.”

“Telling me what to do yet again,” Vercingetorix mocks scornfully, and straightens with only the slightest (odd) hiss, “as well as a chained creature can be, Caesar. To expect anything more from me would be your cruellest act yet.”

“ _Yet_ ,” he mutters darkly, and takes some pleasure in how Vercingetorix doesn’t start the slightest bit, “has the food been adequate? The wine? The water? I would hate for you to starve or dehydrate on my watch, you know. It’d be _rather_ difficult to explain to the people who helped capture you.”

“Gods bless those wonderful people,” Vercingetorix only _laughs_ in reply, shifts a little and winces (oddly) once again, “the food has been acceptable, the wine less so, the water less so still. All has been just enough to keep me unfortunately alive – which, I sense, was the true thrust of your question and so you may consider it answered.”

…There’s still that faint smell of rot in the air, trying its best to clamber up his nostrils and poison his every thought.

He ignores it, _still_ hums over the matter for a while just to show Vercingetorix the certain balance of power, “I suppose. And your sleeping arrangements?”

“I am given a pallet on the floor and at least three hours of silence every night,” Vercingetorix, giving him an unimpressed look, simply throws his arms as wide as possible and wafts the rotting air further still, “I am told that it’s a lot better than most of your prisoners get, and so I suppose that I must answer yet another question with a vague acceptable.”

“And I suppose that I must accept that acceptable, again,” he says wryly, keeps ignoring everything besides Vercingetorix’s dark eyes upon him, “what about your… Waste arrangements?”

“A touch intimate, no?” Vercingetorix only laughs at him yet again – those dark eyes keep flashing, he keeps wincing just slightly, “I am allowed to go whenever I wish, I do not have to soil my clothes or bedding. And, before you ask your next absurdly intrusive question, my hygiene arrangements are just as fine – I am bathed and scrubbed at least once a week, it is an almost-“

“Acceptable amount,” he finishes, and pointedly doesn’t look the slightest bit proud, “that is your favourite word today, and I fear that you’re about to repeat it yet again. Are you exercised regularly?”

“Ah, _such_ a pity to disappoint you,” Vercingetorix still looks at him as if he had, with teeth bared again and eyes glinting mockingly, “apparently I am deemed too dangerous to let out, too violent and disobedient and likely to start a riot. I have the length of my cell to pace, no more and no less.”

He… 

Frowns a little at that, despite himself. Halts his bouncing and leans closer into that rotting smell, “and who decided that?”

Vercingetorix just smirks at him as if the answer is _quite_ obvious, “you.”

…He can only continue to frown. Keep leaning in, knees bending ever so slowly, until their foreheads are practically pressed together – Vercingetorix’s breath warm on his face as he lets out a soft little chuckle and painfully shifts his hands.

“Or your guards using your name to carry out some highly illegal activities,” and painfully shrugs his shoulders, and painfully… _Exists_ , like every single tiny movement is costing him something, “it doesn’t matter much to me, either way. I’m still not allowed freedom no matter who gave the order to chain me.”

He continues to stare, their faces only inches apart “…I’ll have to talk to them.”

“Oh, do!” Vercingetorix laughs at him yet _again_ , breath and the sickly sweet smell of rot hitting him just as surely as any punch, “and then go back to your very busy senate, and allow yourself to get drafted to some other far off country, and leave me all alone to be chained and ceaselessly abused without the chance of a single word getting back to you.”

…He _frowns_.

Vercingetorix only smiles at him with sharp teeth and sharper eyes, tilts his head back until their lips are only a breath apart.

“Perhaps,” he says softly, and makes a mental note to consider everything _later_ , “How have the guards generally treated you?”

The only answer is a slow lean forwards, a half-hearted attempt to brush their lower lips together.

“ _Vercingetorix_.”

“Lift up my shirt,” and then a breathy reply, blonde eyelashes fluttering obscenely against his pale skin – trying to transform him into the absurd seducer that he’ll never ever be (at least not here, down in the dark with the smell of rot in the air), “the answer is there, if you’re brave enough to find it.”

…He carefully raises his eyebrow again.

Vercingetorix only sighs amusedly, relents just a little – leans back from their almost kiss and arches his far paler eyebrow in return, “well?”

And-

…Well, he is brave. Has always been brave. And so carefully, so _very_ carefully, takes a handful of the bottom of Vercingetorix’s admittedly ragged shirt -ever so slowly pulls up, exposing his deathly pale chest to air.

And he’s bleeding.

Oh, fuck, he’s _bleeding_. Not clearly on his admittedly toned front, but to the sides… And even more so on the back, a quick and slightly rough turn enough to expose raised welts _spoiling_ that expanse of beautiful pale skin – turning what was once pristine into a battleground of criss-crossed ugliness that has even his throat closing inevitably up.

“Do _you_ remember how the dear guard that let you in told proudly of how he’d made me quieter?” Vercingetorix says smirkingly to the wall, leans back into him and actually lets out a soft _cry_ at the pain, “this is how he managed it.”

Oh Gods.

…He _forces_ his throat to open again, _resists_ the urge to trail his fingers slowly over Vercingetorix’s raised back, “they flogged you.”

“Whipped me, technically,” especially when Vercingetorix is set on causing enough of his own pain as it is, slowly turning again and falling out his hands and knees with a gritted smirk spreading slowly across his face, “I dare say that they thought that you’d approve. It _did_ make me quieter for a good while, after all.”

The dig of his nails into his palms is sudden and sharp, its just enough to distract him from the compulsion to jump to his feet and march yelling towards the door, “I would _never_ approve of this-“

“Wouldn’t you?”

“ _No_.“

“ _Wouldn’t_ you?”

“ _No_ -!”

“And yet you approve of me being kept chained in a cage,” Vercingetorix’s eyes are suddenly flat in the dim light, softly accusing and like a knife in his gut yet again, “taken away from my men, taken away from my _home_ all so I can languish down here and you can pretend that you’re a good man.”

There’s a long pause.

“…I-“

“ _Hypocrite_ ,” Vercingetorix sing songs the word, suddenly rears up on bony knees and grabs his shoulders for support, “you treat me like some sort of caged pet –but because you come down here at least once a fortnight and ask me so many pretty, meaningless questions and lie so many pretty, meaningless lies you _must_ be the good guy. And those that lay hands on me, those that treat me like what I _am_ are thus automatically bad.”

“I-“

“While actually, _actually_ , it’s the other way around,” Vercingetorix cackles _right_ in his face, “those that treat me like the rat I am are _good_ , and those that treat me as an amusing fool to dance with when bored are _bad_.”

“ _I-_ ”

“Those that tell me the _truth_ are good, those that tell me _lies_ are bad.”

“ _I-!_ ”

“Those who obviously hate me are good!” Vercingetorix practically yells the last part into his face, fingers digging in so hard that he’s sure they’re trying to find bone, “those who pretend to _love_ me are bad!”

…He falls silent, his mouth closing with a dull snap.

“…Those who whip me are good, those who pretend to be open to the sweetest kisses are bad.”

His eyes fall to the ground, they don’t deserve to be any higher.

“Do not pretend that you’re a good man, Caesar,” Vercingetorix finishes flatly, finally letting him go and firmly shoving him back as if he’s something disgusting and corrupt and fit only to be gnawed upon by maggots, “when actually you’re the worst of them all.” 

…There’s another long pause.

“But…” Eventually he props himself up on his elbows, tries to reach for Vercingetorix but finds him already turned away – already displaying his welts with a certain amount of glee, “I’ve never thought of you as a caged thing to dance with when I’m bored, not once.”

“Ah,” Vercingetorix says wisely, and he’d bet his every last coin on the certainty of the man’s smile, “but that doesn’t change what I am, does it?”

“…I could-?”

Vercingetorix only chuckles at him. Soft, and low, and angry, “Haven’t you _left_ yet, evil one?”

He falls silent again.

Slowly rises to his feet, brushes himself down and strides to the bars without another word. Calls for the nameless guard and watches him come without a single glance back.


End file.
